don't blow your composure, baby
by ninjaextraordinaire
Summary: damon/caroline. "What, think I'm redeemable all of a sudden?"


**a/n:** nothing special, just a smidge of daroline friendship, because if i can't have them as a couple, i would love to see them at least have some friendly interaction. or interaction, at least. c'mon julie plec. give my babies some screentime. and yeah, this is kind of all over the place. oops. story title comes from _three cheers for five years_ by mayday parade.

* * *

**don't blow your composure, baby**

* * *

He was right.

Their life is one big, proverbial coin toss. Fact of the matter is, he's the side that's always face down. No matter the odds, no matter the wager, he always loses. It's become so routine that he's sure, should the day come when he's the side facing up, pigs will be gracing the sky and hell will have frozen over.

Alas, today is not that day.

Not-so-breaking news; Elena chose Stefan.

As a result, he's sitting in a bar on the outskirts of Memphis, drowning his sorrow in whatever alcohol the bartender is willing to give him─which, thanks to his awesome vamp powers, means, _a lot_. He pours tequila into the tumbler and weighs his options.

He could go to Milan. Or Vienna. He even own a house in Barcelona.

Damon groans. He knows he agreed that, whoever she may choose, the other would have to leave town. He plans to honor his pact with Stefan, he does, but ugh, the thought of being in a whole different continent than Elena makes his stomach turn.

He's about to ask the bartender if there's a room in the back that he could possibly rent for the rest of eternity when he hears the stool next to his scrape across the floor and the painfully familiar scent of a spring meadow hits his nostrils.

His jaw clenches as he battles the primal instincts begging to resurface, which would mean he, either a) fuck her brains out right here, against the bar─which really isn't even an option to begin with because hello, she has TylerKlaus to deal with and besides, she's made it clear that she'd never succumb to having anything to do with him, despite how amazing the sex is between them, so─or b) reach past her mahogany blouse and squeeze her heart until the remaining life she miraculously still obtains drains from her eyes.

He's not really surprised when it's not that hard to bury the latter. The former, though, is gonna take some work─what? She _is_ his ex-girlfriend and she's great in the sack, can you really blame him for wanting to give this particular ride another go?

"Why are you here, Caroline?"

He doesn't face her, instead willing the amber liquid in his to contain a higher alcohol level─one that would actually affect his system and make him forget about an eternally doe-eyed eighteen-year old girl who is really wearing him out with her inability to admit what she really feels. It's a lost cause, but he downs the bourbon anyway.

Out of the corner of his eye, he can see her watching him, hesitance written in the planes of her face, in the way her thumbs fiddle in her fisted hands. He imperceptibly raises an eyebrow. He's not used to seeing her nervous, not anymore. Ever since his psychopathic ex smothered her with a pillow, she's built a confidence so strong, so unlike the sixteen-year old human girl he once took advantage of.

He wonders if he'll always have this effect on her.

"You mentioned this place once, back when we...when you...yeah. For some reason, I knew I'd find you here."

He glares at her, unsure of what she's getting at. Does she want to take a rendezvous down memory lane into their tumultuous relationship of once upon a time? Does she want him to clap his hands together and congratulate her on remembering the bits and pieces of their time together that he _didn't_ take away?

He doesn't mean to sound bitter, but honestly. He doesn't allow himself to wallow in self-pity very often, because when he does, he drowns in it, drowns in a river of amber liquid that burns his throat and dulls the voice in his head telling him that he's never enough. It sounds exactly like Elena, because it's to the point that whenever she says _it'll always be Stefan_, or _I love him_, or _I don't know how I feel_, he's not even surprised─just another Tuesday in Mystic Falls.

So yeah, right reserved.

"You're trying my patience. Either say what you came here to say, or get out."

She takes a deep breath, waits until he's looking at her. "Don't leave, Damon."

She has to bury the urge to jump up and shimmy her hips in happiness when she sees the ice around his eyes melt away into a brighter blue─the color that had her wrapped around his finger with a single smile. Her posture straightens absentmindedly, thinking that maybe coming here wasn't such a lost cause.

His gaze is surveying her every feature, from the set of her lips to the placement of her hands, searching for any sign of deceit. She lets him─frankly, if the ex-boyfriend _she'd_ abused came waltzing through the door, asking her to stay, she'd suspect an ulterior motive too. She waits until his eyes travel back to hers, and she swallows hard when she sees all the questions swimming in the ocean water depths, brimmed with unadulterated hope.

She wonders if this is the side of him only Elena gets to see.

"Give me one good reason as to why I should stay."

She replies with the only reason she can think of.

"Because I'm asking you to."

He snorts, taking another swig from his glass, enjoying the burn of his throat it leaves in its wake. "Hate to break it to you Blondie, but unless your name starts with an _E_ and ends with _lena_, you're not qualified to pull that card."

She blinks. That wasn't totally unexpected.

She may be ditzy at times, but she's not an idiot. It's not like she expected Damon to go running back to Mystic Falls at her beck and call.

Still, his total disregard for her desires is slightly more than off-putting. She has to remind herself that leaving this man to completely submerge himself in bourbon and fuck the first thing with boobs he sees wouldn't be the best thing to do.

"Why are _you_ playing messenger?" he muses, tilting his head to the side in that big-ego way that makes her want to shove a stake up his ass. "I thought that out of everyone, _you'd_ be the one conducting the train on the _I Hate Damon Salvatore Express_."

She chews on the inside of her lip as she feels her undead heart plummet to the pit of her stomach. She can't bear to tell him that she's not playing the part of messenger, that no one even knows she came to try and get him, that no one's really looking for him.

The only two people who actually would are too busy─whether it's teaching Elena the importance of moderation when feeding, to living out the epic love story that _is_ StefanandElena─to actually notice his absence.

So it's up to her, and that kind of makes her sad, because when the only person a man has seeking him out is his quasi-ex-girlfriend who meant less than nothing to him, _that's_ when you've reached rock bottom.

It's true. In theory, she should want him gone, and _yeah_, a part of her does; the part that's still bitter about the fact that this grade A asshole came in, made her lust after him like she's never lusted after anyone, and ripped her heart to shreds, somehow still having her adore him with all the little pieces.

The other part of her is more reasonable. She remembers being at the Founder's Party, remembers the flicker of pain in his eyes as he watched Stefan dance with Elena, knows that it must be a familiar feeling for him; seeing the one he loves love someone else. She sympathized.

The fact of the matter is, she hates him, but she can't help but love him just as much.

He's still waiting for an answer, and she hesitantly allows her fingers to rest on his knee.

"Despite..._everything_, I don't think you deserve to be miserable, Damon."

He purses his lips, sizing her up. He doesn't have to, he's aware─apart from dancing on bars and winning women over with a simple smirk, one of Damon Salvatore's many talents is that he _knows_ Caroline Forbes.

He knows her inside and out, knows how she takes her coffee, knows that she never properly learned the Pythagorean Theorem, knows what parts of her body should be paid special attention to. Admittedly, it's one of his more useless talents, but it sure comes in handy in moments like these, where he can tell that every word coming out of Caroline's mouth is sincere.

Nevertheless.

"Which is exactly why I'm choosing to do my Mystic Falls swan song now. Before things get more...complicated." He looks pointedly at her, lightly tapping her nose with his index finger. "Which, they will, considering the fact that my baby bro can't seem to keep his woman on a leash. Think of the horror."

"Then come back."

"I'm sure they'll manage."

"Come anyway."

He smirks at the steely determination in her eyes. "What, think I'm redeemable all of a sudden?"

She laughs, and while he thinks he should be offended, he can't bring himself to be. The lilting sound that springs from her lips doesn't hold any malice, just pure amusement. She looks down at her lap, eyelashes ghosting over her porcelain cheeks in a way that makes him think there's something she isn't telling him.

"Like you said, I'm not Elena, I don't call the shots on that."

His ears perk up, looking around for the burly bartender. "Speaking of shots..."

She shakes her head fervently, and he's kind of mesmerized at how the sight of her blonde curls swaying in the atmosphere contrast heavily with the smell of cigarettes and stale beer in the air.

His bemusement lasts all but a second.

"Uh-uh, no can do. It's Wednesday, and there's a meeting for the prom committee tomorrow morning at six o'clock sharp."

Her tone holds no room for argument, and he rolls his eyes. "Damn, Blondie, I don't think you could be more anal if you tried." He's kind of disappointed that she uses all the potential that being one of the undead gives her and puts it forth in organizing school activities. Normally, he wouldn't care, but it's his blood running through her veins now, so. "You're a vampire for fuck's sake."

"I'm also a senior in high school, and I'm not about to ruin my permanent record just because I'll have the rest of eternity to perfect another one. Which, I will, by the way."

He doesn't doubt it.

"Dedication─I love that in a woman," he slurs derisively, inching his face towards hers. It doesn't surprise him in the slightest when she grimaces and flicks at his nose.

He smirks─despite all the proverbial plot twists that his existence has to offer, be it Stefan's drinking habits ranging from Thumper to something _a little blonder_, or Elena's feelings being the ultimate question mark that the girl herself seems unwilling to unmask, he finds a strange sort of solace in the familiarity of the feigned intolerance Caroline regards him with.

It's nice to know he can always count on her to be irritated by his snarky and lascivious remarks, all the while an obvious tinge of affection flows in the undercurrent of their banter.

"This bar looks perfect for dancing. Whaddaya say?" Damon suggests, waggling his eyebrows.

She rolls her eyes, but he can see the faint outline of a smile on her lips. "No more drinking," she orders. Her arms stiffen at her sides for a millisecond, and before he can register what she's doing, he's in her arms, her shoulder brushing the bottom of his chin. He sighs and settles his fingers at the small of her back. She pulls away, glancing at him thoughtfully before turning and heading for the exit, pausing as her hand looms over the handle. "For the record, I don't hate you, and as much as it pains me to say it—I don't think I ever could," she whispers.

Despite the commotion of an active bar, he hears every word, clear as day.

Damon waits until the bar's exit door closes behind her before allowing his lips to curl up in a smile. Leaving a twenty-dollar bill on the counter, he walks into the brisk night air feeling a little bit better than when he walked in.

He inhales. It smells like spring.

* * *

_reviews are love._


End file.
